


The Things Left Behind

by proprioception (sacrificethemtothesquid)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 10:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sacrificethemtothesquid/pseuds/proprioception
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thom Rainier?” she hears herself say, her voice calm and collected and very, very far away. “No. I didn’t know him at all.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Things Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Arcana: The Spreading of the Cards](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3303080) by [thievinghippo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo/pseuds/thievinghippo). 



> I am so sorry for this. I read thievinghippo's Peace, and it wrecked me. This is my Inquisitor's take on a possible end to Revelations.

They ride hard for four days, switching horses along the way. Leliana’s birds have flown ahead of them, but only just, and the waypoints are a quick flurry of activity, of water skins swapped out and wrapped packages of bread and cheese and jerky thrust into waiting hands. “What news?” Cassandra asks tersely.

“None, Seeker,” says Leliana’s agent, handing her the reins to a fresh horse.

The Nightingale is frightening effective, so Blackwall only has three days’ lead time, but distance is against them. By the time the towers of Val Royeaux are visible in the valley, it’s been almost a full week since Evelyn found the heart-wrenching note tacked to the finished griffin toy, and her body is still ringing like a bell. She hasn’t spoken of the betrayal to her companions on the road; Cassandra’s teeth are set in a feral grimace, and Dorian’s a poor enough rider that by the second day, the few words he utters are curses directed at the saddle sores. Even Sera is uncharacteristically quiet, and Evelyn understands that out of everyone save herself, Sera is Blackwall’s favorite. Every breath must be saved for haste.

It’s late in the afternoon when they pass through the main gates, the horses lathered and coughing with exertion. The riders are not much better; dismounting, Evelyn leans against her sweaty mount in sudden dizziness, and Dorian outright collapses, staggering to his feet and gingerly stepping forward. 

The rain that’s been a constant drizzle since they came into the valley has changed to something more persistent, and the marketplace is almost deserted, the cafes empty save for a few masked maitres d’ rearranging chairs or idly wiping glasses. “Maybe it’s not happened yet,” Sera says, her voice wavering. “There’d be a crowd for a hanging, right? There’s always a crowd...”

But there isn’t a crowd. The main square is empty, and as they round the central tower, Sera makes a noise like a wounded animal, and Cassandra gasps out, “Maker, no!” 

Overhead, the wind snaps the sodden red banners. It’s very much like the sound of a breaking heart. Evelyn can’t see the face of the man swinging from the gibbet, but she knows, oh, she _knows_ the shape of those broad shoulders, the large hands hanging unnaturally still and the dark hair dripping in the rain. 

“It can’t be him,” Cassandra is saying, gripping Evelyn’s arm with pressure borne from panic. “It cannot be. It’s someone else. Leliana would have heard.”

Her limbs feel strangely numb in a way that has nothing to do with riding. “Pardon me,” Evelyn hears herself say, as her legs carry her to a merchant huddled under his oilcloth. “Who is that man that was hanged?”

“Him?” The merchant snorts, his golden mask glinting beneath a broad hat. “That’s none other than Thom Rainier, murderer of children and traitor to Orlais. You missed it by a few hours. It was quite the show. They had Rainier’s second-in-command, a man named Mornay, ready to swing!” He gestures with his hand to indicate a loop of rope around his neck. “And then this Grey Warden storms up and demands that Mornay be released. Of course, the hangman wants to know why, and the Warden announces that he himself is Thom Rainier, living as a man named...what was it, Blackwell?...for all these years.”

“And there was no trial?” Evelyn asks faintly. 

The merchant shrugs. “Why? His guilt is well-known, and he himself admitted to his crimes. He put the noose on himself, and even shook the hangman’s hand.” He shakes his head. “They’ll be talking about that for years to come.”

“Thank you for your time.” The words fall from her lips automatically, but Cassandra is already pulling her away. 

“Hey! Did you know him?” the merchant calls after her. 

Sera is sitting on the edge of the gibbet, sobbing into her hands as Blackwall’s body turns slowly in the air. Cassandra and Dorian are both holding Evelyn as if she’s trying to run - toward him or away, it doesn’t matter - but her body is leaden, as immovable as stone. “Thom Rainier?” she hears herself say, her voice calm and collected and very, very far away. “No. I didn’t know him at all.”


End file.
